They Hadn't Always Been Mercers
by xjustxletxmexgox
Summary: Everybody in Detroit knows the four Mercer brothers. But they hadn't always been Mercers. This is the orgins of the brothers... Long before they were brothers. More complete summary inside. Warnings: Extreme physical abuse, some sexual abuse.
1. Bobby Trumble

Ok, so I've decided to repost this... again. It still isn't finished, but I have been working on it some more. But, as with all of my stories, don't expect frequent updates. I will as much as possible, but my schedule is pretty busy right now. So please bear with me. Thanks for reading! :D

* * *

The four Mercer brothers. Bobby, Jeremiah, Angel, and Jack.

Hot headed Bobby, man of the house, with a rap sheet longer than he was tall, and a temper as short as one of those miniature dogs he hated, and known as the Michigan Mauler.

Even tempered Jeremiah, family man, business man, and all around good guy, usually the 'voice of reason' among the brothers.

Lady's man Angel, ex-hustler, known by all the ladies, with a physique to match the Hulk, and second only to Bobby for his temper and arrest record.

Quiet-spoken Jack, the baby of the family, shy, and more than a little 'troubled', he stood about 6'1", weighed maybe 140 lbs soaking wet, and his rap sheet was definitely getting longer by the week.

Four brothers, as different as the seasons. But aside from the different types of abuse they had all dealt with as children, they had one thing in common.

They hadn't always been Mercers.

* * *

Bobby hadn't always been a Mercer. He had been born, and mostly raised as a Trumble, a bunch of alcoholic druggies whose men beat on the wives and kids, the wives beat on the kids and slept around, and the kids were left to fight amongst themselves.

His dad was only nineteen when he got Bobby's mother pregnant, but was already well on his way to completing the Trumble legacy. Jonathon Trumble had a rap sheet longer than most men twice his age, and showed no signs of slowing down.

Bobby's mother Karen was a Britton, which was almost the same as a Trumble. She and John hadn't planned on getting married, but Grandma Trumble, ever the iron-fist matriarch, insisted upon her family marrying whoever they got pregnant.

So, most people thought, began another cycle of Trumbles.

But amazingly, John almost never laid a hand on baby Bobby. Oh sure, he got the occasional spanking, but then again, considering what most Trumbles did to their children, a spanking was a small thing in comparison. John and Karen were determined to make a better life for their son than what they had had. So they worked hard, and tried to put their pasts behind them.

Things were decent for a while, all things considered. Until an accident on the job left twenty year old Karen a widow, and four year old Bobby an orphan. That was when things started running downhill.

Karen decided to leave Bobby with his father's aunt and uncle while she went to Texas to look for a better job. As far as she knew, Tom and Meg Trumble were nice enough people. So she felt comfortably leaving her son with them until she got enough money to get on her feet.

She never expected them to torture her little boy.

It started out small in the beginning. So small that even Bobby barely noticed it. A smack in the back of the head lead to a smack in the face. A smack in the face led to knuckle punch upside the head. After Bobby got a little older, those lead to full fledged punches in the face and head. Punches lead to beatings. Beatings lead to whippings. Whippings lead to things that most people can't even begin to imagine doing to a kid.

"_Bobby! Get your fucking ass up here now!" Tom yelled from the top of the stairs._

_Thirteen year old Bobby shook his head, already knowing what was coming, and swaggered out towards the stairs._

_He'd grown into a stocky young man, with his father's dark brown hair, and his mother's brown eyes. He was thin from years worth of not eating for days, but he still managed to look tough._

"_What?" He asked, his voice still rough from the bleach Meg regularly made him swallow._

"_Don't mouth off, boy! Just get your fucking ass up here before I drag you up!"_

_Bobby did what he always did. A few years ago he had decided that if he was gonna get punished, he was at least gonna get punished for something he did. So he mouthed off some more._

"_Fuck you, fat ass. Come down here and get me," Bobby taunted. He knew he would get beaten worse later for it, but at least he'd deserve whatever he got._

_Tom came down the stairs, and punched him in the head. Bobby winced as his head bounced off the wall, but before he could actually react, Tom was already dragging him up the stairs by his shirt._

_Bobby squirmed, and tried to maneuver himself out of Tom's grip. But it was no use. Almost quicker than Bobby thought possible, Tom had him in the 'play' room as the other kids called it, and cuffed to the bar on the wall, leaving him pressed against the wall, with his arms stretched far above his head, almost cutting the circulation off. Then he felt the belt hit his back._

_But he was silent. He didn't cry, or beg Tom to stop, even when Tom misjudged, and hit him around the neck with the belt. The only noise that came from him was the sound of the belt tearing his skin apart._

_When it was all over, Tom dragged him over to the closet, and handcuffed him to the water pipe that ran across the bottom of the floor, leaving Bobby in a sitting position with his arms in front of him. As the door closed, and he shifted to get comfortable, water dripping in his face, stomach growling in hunger, and his back sticky with blood, he blanked out. He completely shut down. It was how he survived._

But it wasn't just the physical abuse that made Bobby's life a living hell. Tom and Meg had six of their own kids. Four of which were older than Bobby, which meant he got teased a lot, not only for his mother 'abandoning' him as they put it, but because of his height. Three of the four older children were boys, who were all to happy to have someone in the house who everybody hated, so that they could do whatever sick and twisted things they wanted. Which meant that Bobby never really slept good at night.

Bobby still remembered the day it all ended. He had been at a friend's house, when a parent discovered the 'marks'.

* * *

"Yo, Bobby, think fast!" Mike yelled, throwing the football at Bobby's head.

Instinctively, fourteen year old Bobby swung out, lashing the ball with his arm, and sending it flying, cussing as he did so.

"Dude, what the hell man?" Mike swore, running over to pick up the ball.

Bobby flipped him off with his good hand, wincing at the pain that lanced through his wrist, which was probably broken from Tom's 'game' the previous night.

"Bobby? Are you all right?" Mike's mom called from the house. "That looked like it hurt. Why don't you come in and I'll take a look at it."

"Nah, I'm fine, Mrs. Clark," He said, his mind already racing with ways to avoid talking to Mrs. Clark.

"Bobby Trumble, get your butt in here right now. I've seen you holding your wrist all day, and I'm not going to tell you again. Get in here," She said sternly.

Instantly, Bobby knew it was all over. There was pity in Mrs. Clark's eyes, and Bobby realized that she had only been waiting for an opportunity to say something.

He walked towards the house like a man on death row. As soon as he was in the house, Mrs. Clark lead him to the bathroom, where he backed into the room as far as he could.

"Take off your shirt and hoodie, Bobby," She ordered firmly. "Now."

"Please don't, Mrs. Clark," Bobby begged, not able to bear the thought that this woman who had been so kind to him would know that he got beaten or worse every night.

"Bobby, I won't tell you again. Either take of your shirt, or I'll take it off," She threatened. When Bobby made no effort to comply, she started towards him.

Instantly, Bobby started swinging his fists. It was a subconscious reaction, something he didn't even know he was doing. His mind shut down, and he went into autopilot.

He dimly heard Mrs. Clark calling out for her husband Chris, who came in, and quickly subdued the short, malnourished teenager.

Rachael Clark had tears in her eyes as she watched Bobby struggle like an animal, whimpering and growling at the same time. A wild look was in his eyes as he kicked, bit, and clawed at Chris, attempting to get free. It took almost five minutes before he finally calmed down enough for Chris to loosen his grip. But even then, Chris kept a tight grip on him as Rachael slowly peeled Bobby's hoodie off, careful to not let him lose.

After starting at the bottom of Bobby's long sleeve shirt, Rachael closed her eyes, and turned her head for a minute.

"Chris, his shirt's… it's stuck to his back," She whispered. But she only paused for a minute before slowly trying to pull it off again. Finally, she stopped. "I can't, Chris. I'm tearing his skin off."

Chris nodded, although he felt as sick as his wife. "Try using a wet washcloth," He suggested. He looked out the door, and seen Mike stare at them.

"Dad, what're you guys doin'?" He asked, panic and worry in his voice.

"Mike… Bobby's been… He's been hurt, Mikey. We're trying to help him. Why don't you go upstairs to your room?"

Mike hesitantly obeyed, but Chris's attention was drawn back to Bobby as he started fighting again.

"Dammit, Bobby, stop! We're trying to help you!" Rachael begged. She knew it was useless. She'd seen Bobby get this way at his hockey games, when he would lose his temper, and the referees would drag him off. He went into total self-preservation mode, lashing out on whatever unfortunate soul happened to be closest.

After another five minute run of animalistic behavior, Bobby stopped struggling again, and Rachael set to work on getting his shirt off. As careful as she attempted to be, she could still feel pieces of skin tear off as she worked.

It took her nearly twenty minutes to get the long sleeve shirt off, seeing as how every couple of minutes, Bobby would flip out, and it would take him a few minutes to calm down.

But once she finally got it off, she nearly wished she had left it on.

His back was covered in open sores, and welts from a belt. Blood still leaked from some of the wounds, and it looked as if most of them were placed on top of old scars, on top of old scars. His chest was worse. Rachael could see foot impressions in the bruises covering most of his upper torso. Cigarette burns and what looked to be cuts from a razor littered every inch that she could see. Clearly, his left wrist was broken, just as she had suspected. It was dangling awkwardly, even as Bobby attempted to hit Chris with it. She almost cried to think how much it must have hurt to knock the football away.

"Rachael… go call nine one one. This is serious… He needs to see a doctor. Some of these look infected."

Rachael nodded. "Ok. Can you hold him?"

"I think he's pretty much done in, Rach," Chris said, slowly loosening his grip on the now limp Bobby. "I'm gonna take him out to the couch, and lay him down."

Chris gently folded the small boy into his arms, realizing sadly that Bobby weighed maybe 110 pounds, if that much. Bobby struggled a little initially, but Chris knew he had to be in severe pain. He set him down as gently as he could on the couch, and covered him with a blanket, then went to find Rachael.

She was on the phone, talking to the 911 operator. "Yes, he's… he's one of the neighborhood boys. He's friends with my son… Look, respectively ma'am, I'm a nurse's aid. I know what I'm doing, and I definitely know an abused kid when I see one… Is the ambulance on it's way yet?... Good, then I'm not wasting my time with you," She said angrily, hanging up the phone. She turned to look at her husband, finally letting the tears come to her eyes. "Chris… He's such a good kid. I know he's a handful, but he tries so hard. How could someone do that to him? He's just a kid…"

Chris pulled her into a hug. "I know hun. But now he's gonna get some help. I think I'll call up to Evelyn, see if maybe she'll take him in for a bit."

"Evelyn?" Rachael asked, surprise evident in her voice. "But Chris… she's for…" Her voice cut off, not wanting to say it.

"Troubled kids? Yeah, Rach, I know. He's got a temper mean enough to take on half of Michigan if he gets mad enough. We both know it. I'm not sayin' he's a bad kid, babe, but I'm sayin' he needs some help."

"That's what I don't understand, Chris. He's so… angry… why would he let someone do that to him, and not go after them?"

"The only person who can answer that is Bobby. And he doesn't like to talk about anything involving him. You know that. He'll talk about anything in the world just so long as it doesn't pertain to him."

* * *

_Beep… Beep… Beep… Beep…_

Bobby squinted his closed eyes. His head was pounding. He couldn't figure out what the continuing beeping was. Constant. Occasionally, racks of pain would shot through him, but he barely even registered them anymore.

He'd drifted in and out a few times now. He still wasn't real sure where he was, or what was happening. The last thing he remembered was Mrs. Clark cornering him, and after that, everything was a blur.

He tried to move his hand, but it was restrained. So he tried the other one, and found the same thing.

He violently swallowed, ideas slamming into his head quicker than he could dispel them.

_Mrs. Clark gave you back…_ Taunted a small little voice in his head.

No she didn't. Bobby knew that much. That would be too easy. If only she could have just given him back. Bobby knew there'd be hell to pay now, no matter what anyone did.

So despite _really_ not wanting to, Bobby forced his eyes open.

Evelyn Mercer had been sitting with the boy for the three days he'd been in the hospital, when he finally woke up.

"Where the fuck am I?" He asked groggily, his voice scratchy and raw. "Who the fuck are you?"

"You're in the hospital, Bobby."

He squinted again, and took a deep breath. "You some kinda shrink?"

Evelyn smiled sadly. "No, Bobby. I'm not a shrink."

"Why can't I move?" This was delivered harshly, almost as if it hurt him to talk. The doctor had said his throat was extremely raw, probably from swallowing (or being forced to swallow) bleach, or something of that nature.

"You had to be restrained, Bobby. You would try to hurt whoever came near you," She explained softly.

"I guess I finally learnt my fucking lesson, huh? Look lady, I ain't broken, so quit fucking whisperin', and if you keep sayin' my name like I'm a five year old, you ain't gonna wanna be here when they take these fucking cuffs off."

Evelyn smiled again, liking the boy's spunk. She could never quite tell exactly how to deal with kids the first time she met them. So she chose to go by the easiest route, and work her way from there. "I'll keep that in mind. I wasn't sure if you had a headache or not, so I decided I'd be courteous and keep my voice down. And those aren't handcuffs," She said with a frown. "They're wrist restraints."

Bobby finally looked over at her. "Can I move at all in 'em? No. Are they attached to my fucking wrists? Yeah. Are they holdin' me here? Yeah. They're fucking handcuffs," He said, glaring.

"Bobby you broke the doctor's nose," Evelyn stressed, determined to make him understand.

"Look, I ain't questionin' why they're on. I'm just tellin' you that they're handcuffs, no matter how much padding you put on 'em. I know I need 'em. I'm used to 'em." He settled back into the bed and closed his eyes. "At least they ain't real tight," He muttered to himself.

"What do you mean, you 'need' them, Bobby?"

"Hey, you know what? It just occurred to me. You know my name obviously, 'cause you keep sayin' it, but I have no fucking clue who you are."

"My name's Evelyn Mercer. I'm your new social worker."

His eyes opened wide as he looked over at her. "My what?"

"Your social worker, Bobby. You're being put in foster care."

"Bull shit," He swore loudly. "I ain't a fucking orphan, and I sure as hell ain't a fucking foster brat."

"Bobby… your aunt and uncle were _torturing_ you," She said slowly.

"Gee, thanks captain fucking obvious. I didn't know that. Here I thought they were givin' me the fucking guest treatment. But that ain't my point. I got a family."

Evelyn shook her head. "Bobby, the state can't allow you to stay with people who are hurting you like that."

"Lady… Evelyn… You're missin' my fucking point. I got family. My ma's comin' back for me," He said angrily.

"Your mother? Bobby, when was the last time you saw your mother?"

He shrugged. "Six or seven years. But that don't mean nothin'! She's comin' back for me!"

"When, Bobby? When's she coming back for you?"

"Will you stop sayin' my name every five seconds? Jesus fucking Christ! I'm tellin' you now, she's gonna come back for me!" He yelled.

"You don't like it when I say your name, Bobby? That is your name, isn't it, Bobby? What else would you like me to call you, Bobby?" She asked, purposely egging him on.

"I don't fucking care! Call me shit head, call me dumb fuck, just stop sayin' my fucking name!"

"Fine, shit head. That's what I'll call you from now on. Is that what your uncle calls you?"

"Why the fuck do you care?"

"Because. I want to know why you hate your name so much," Evelyn said, as if it was obvious.

"I don't hate my fucking name. I just hate it when people keep sayin' it every ten fucking seconds," He said, his temper seemingly going away.

"Fine. Would you like me to ask the doctor to take off the restraints?"

"Why? You're gonna put 'em back on anyways."

"Why do you say that, Bobby? We only put them on because we were afraid you'd hurt yourself."

He gave her a look that clearly said he thought she was stupid. "You seriously think I'm gonna hurt myself? Like I need some more fucking pain? Seriously, Evelyn, stop treatin' me like I'm fucking five. I know why they're on."

"Oh, really? Then why don't you tell me."

" 'Cause I'm a fucking animal, and fucking animals get fucking caged," He said bitterly, turning his head to stare at the wall.

"Bobby, you're not an animal," Evelyn said softly, taking a chance as she reached out, and took his hand.

Bobby yanked it away. "Yes, I am! That's why this shit happens to me! It's why I look like this! It's why I get used as a fucking ashtray! It's why I sleep in a fucking cage every night!" He screamed, thrashing against the restraints violently, making Evelyn jump back. "Fuck, Fuck, Fuck! Let me outta here! I can take care of my fucking self!"

Evelyn leaned over him. "Bobby, calm down! Please, Bobby! You're going to hurt yourself!"

"Let me go! I can take care of myself! _Just let me go_!"

"Bobby, please! Nobody's gonna hurt you here, I promise!" Evelyn said desperately. "You have to just calm down!"

She waited nervously for ten minutes, until Bobby finally stopped screaming, and started breathing normally again.

"You done?" She asked as soon as he stopped pulling on the restraints.

He closed his eyes, still breathing heavily. "Yeah. I'm fine," He said roughly.

"Good. Because whether or not you like it, we still have to talk about you. Do you know what happened before you were brought here?"

He glared at her. "I thought you said you weren't a shrink."

"I'm not. I'm your social worker, and it's my job to know these things. Now do you know how you got here or not?"

"I remember bein' over at the Clarks house. Mrs. Clark knew my wrist was broken, so she had me come in. I don't remember anything after that," He said, his voice low and angry.

"How'd you break your wrist?"

"Why you ask so many fucking questions?"

"You better get used to it. You're going to have to answer them for the police too," Evelyn said pointedly.

Bobby's eyes showed his feelings. "Yeah, 'cause you know the cops are gonna listen to anything I say," He said sarcastically.

"Bobby… you were tortured by your legal guardians. They're not going to even consider your past history."

He scoffed. "Yeah, right. They're gonna be just like everyone else. Gonna say I deserved it. Maybe I did…" He said, so softly, that Evelyn could barely hear him. But she did hear him.

"I don't ever want to hear you say that again, do you hear me?" She said, now her voice angry. "You didn't deserve to have cigarettes put out on you, or sleep in a cage, or anything else they did to you, Bobby. Do you understand me? No kid deserves that. No matter what you think you did."

"I'm not a kid," He said halfheartedly. Evelyn could see the collage of emotions running across his face.

Poor kid. He'd probably never heard anything other than he was worthless. Evelyn felt her heart reaching out to this boy. She realized he was right. He wasn't a kid. Nobody could go through what Bobby had gone through and retain their childhood. The doctors had said that Bobby was one of the worst abuse cases he had ever seen. And seeing as how he had worked at a community hospital in Detroit for almost twenty years… that was saying something.

"I know you're not, Bobby. You've probably seen more things at your age than most people will ever even dream about. But my point remains. You didn't deserve anything they did to you. And the cops _will_ listen to you, and they _will_ believe you. I promise. Now I just want you to tell me what happened. Can you do that?" At Bobby's barely perceptible nod, she continued. "Ok. What happened to your wrist?"

Bobby's eyes closed, and she could tell he was remembering.

_The belt cut into his back, again and again. It seemed like Tom had been going at it for hours. Maybe he had. At this point, Bobby simply wished he'd lock him in the closet and be done with it._

_Out of nowhere, a stinging pain was felt in his left leg, and it simply collapsed. Bobby almost screamed as he fell. Except his body fell, and his arm remained locked to the wall. A horrible snapping noise filled the room, and Bobby felt a sharp searing pain shot through his entire arm._

_Tom only laughed, and kept beating him._

In short, concise words delivered in a monotone voice, Bobby told her the story, leaving out any trace of emotion he did or didn't feel.

Evelyn did her best to keep her voice steady. "What exactly is the closet?" She asked, not showing her anger at all.

_A room to small for anything other than shoving a boy into. A two foot wide by three foot long room with leaky pipes, no light, no room to maneuver… Nothing,_ Bobby thought angrily.

"It's where I usually spend my time if I'm not in the cage," He said instead, his voice full of sarcasm.

Evelyn closed her eyes slowly. "What's the cage?" She asked, not really wanting to know the answer.

_It's the small iron cage in the basement. Smaller than the closet. Where he was chained in like a dog._

"It's a dog kennel in the basement. They chain me up down there at night." His voice was devoid of any emotion.

"They…" Evelyn could barely continue. "Chain you up?"

Bobby gave a short, tense nod, followed by a laugh full of a pain nobody should know. "Yeah. They got me a little spiked choke collar and everything. Still think I'm not an animal?"

"Is that what happened to your neck?" She asked, referring to the round shaped scars on his neck.

"Yeah. I pulled a little too hard trying to get out a couple years ago. I only made that mistake once," He said bitterly.

Evelyn stood up, unable to listen to any more. "Bobby… I promise nothing like that's ever going to happen to you again. I'm going to have you placed in a good home."

Bobby glanced at her, and she felt herself almost shrinking away from his cold brown eyes. "You can't promise anything. And I'm not gonna stay in some fucking foster home."

* * *

"Bobby, why do you purposely try to get kicked out?" Evelyn asked, her voice clearly troubled.

Bobby looked at her guiltily. The last thing he wanted to do was cause Evelyn grief, but he couldn't tell her the real reason he had gotten kicked out of the most recent addition to the list of homes Bobby had stayed at. A few of the homes had been close to as bad as his uncle's house, although Evelyn didn't know that, and this last one had been the shits. "I don't know, Evelyn," He said quietly. Almost a year after he'd been removed from his uncle's house, Bobby had finally began to trust, and even like Evelyn Mercer. He knew she would do her best to protect him. But he also knew that she couldn't always be there to save, unless she wanted to move into the foster home with him.

"Bobby… I don't have anywhere else to put you. I've run out of homes," she said desperately. "I don't know what to do with you."

"I'm sorry, Evelyn. I don't mean to be trouble," He said stonily, glaring at people out the window.

Most people would have taken offense to his attitude. Evelyn knew better. She knew Bobby probably did feel bad, thinking that everything was his fault again. "I know you don't try, Bobby. Look… I'm going to have you stay at my house for a few days. Maybe another home will come up in a week or two."

Bobby looked up, the closest thing to excitement in his eyes that Evelyn had ever seen on him. "You mean I get to stay with you?"

"For a few weeks, Bobby. The judge has given me permission to keep you for a few weeks until we can find out what to do."

"But I can stay with you?" He asked doggedly.

Evelyn smiled. "Yes, Bobby. You can stay with me." She glanced over at him, and seen him staring out the window contentedly. In a year, with good food, and some exercise, Bobby had finally begun to fill out. He was short and stocky, but as far to many people knew, he was a hell-raiser, and not a person you wanted to piss off. His fists flew at the slightest sign of danger, or insult. His voice had finally fully recovered after years of being forced to swallow bleach, leaving a pleasant, tenor voice that Evelyn had come to adore.

She'd never gotten so emotionally attached to one of her cases before. All of them before Bobby had simply been that: Cases. She always tried her hardest to get children placed, but Bobby… Something about the tough boy raised all sorts of maternal instincts that Evelyn didn't even know she had.

After that first hospital visit, Bobby never talked about what happened to him ever again. Evelyn partially regretted not learning more, but it was too late. Bobby had seemingly drawn a line between his past and present life, and refused to talk about what his uncle and cousins had done to him.

But she had a good idea. Part of the reason Bobby had been returned from the first few homes were his nightmares. He would either wake up in a panic, unable to calm down, or sleep walk through the house, ending up almost anywhere.

But nobody had been able to drag out the cause, or contents of the nightmares. Bobby could be very patient when he wanted to be, and he had often out sat shrinks for hours, not talking, not moving, and to all appearances, barely breathing. Most people had long since givin up, calling him a lost cause.

Evelyn knew better. She knew that somewhere deep under the rough exterior, there was a side of Bobby that only wanted to be accepted.

"This is it."

Bobby looked up, pulled out of his memories by Evelyn's voice. He looked up at the house in front of them, shocked. "You live here?"

"Yeah. I know it's not a lot, but it works," She said with a shrug. "Up until recently, I haven't really needed much better."

"Wow, Evelyn. That's… wow," Bobby said, stunned into silence. He couldn't understand why Evelyn was acting embarrassed about her house. It was amazing. Finally, he found his voice. "Does it have a back yard?" He asked, a hint of excitement in his voice.

"Of course," Evelyn said, casting him a sidelong glance. "I mean, it's not huge by any means, but there's enough room for a rambunctious boy to play in."

Bobby's eyes lit up, and Evelyn took a mental picture of his face. It was one of the few times she'd ever seen the boy happy, and, to put it in mushy terms, it made her heart get all fuzzy, as Bobby would say.

"You serious? Does it have any trees?" He asked, sounding for all the world like a little boy who wanted to play with trucks.

"A few."

"Can I climb 'em?"

She laughed. "Why don't we get you settled into one of the bedrooms first? Then you can climb to your heart's content," She said, smiling as she unlocked the front door. "Now there are four spare rooms upstairs. You can pick whichever one you want, and I'll pull down the spare bed from the attic."

Bobby gave her a humorous look. "And you have four extra bedrooms, why?"

She opened her mouth to say something, then laughed. "Honestly, Bobby? I have no idea. I liked the layout of the house when I bought it, so I didn't even consider the bedrooms. But I guess in this case, it's a good thing I didn't get a single room house, huh?"

Bobby grinned. "I guess so."


	2. Jack Waldron

Ok, so thanks for coming back to read the second chapter. This one is Jack's beginnings. Thanks for reading! Oh, and a quick warning: this does contain sexual abuse, not terribly graphic, but... well, yee've been warned.

* * *

Jack wasn't born a Mercer. Unfortunately, he was born Jack Waldron. He'd never known his father, who'd run out on his mother when she became pregnant.

Alicia Waldron, who'd been nineteen when her son was born, was a drug addicted whore, who simply seen Jack as means to an end. She had been raised in middle class family, but had gotten hooked on drugs when she was thirteen. Her parents had disowned her when she was sixteen, so she had turned to prostitution to support her drug habit.

One of Jack's earliest memories was one of his mother's 'working nights'.

_Four year old Jack walked around the house, quietly crying. He hadn't eaten since the night before, when his mother had taken time to throw a box of cereal at him._

_He heard the steady banging noise coming from the upstairs bedroom, and knew instinctively that he wouldn't be eating. From the time he could walk, he'd learned to associate banging sounds to hunger._

_It's amazing what young children can learn._

"_Mommy," He cried quietly, knowing that she wouldn't hear him. "I hungry."_

_He slowly climbed the stairs to his 'room', the small closet in the hallway where his mom had thrown a few towels, and curled up, trying to cover himself the best he could._

_It was cold… so cold._

_He didn't know it, but his mother had been to busy supporting her drug habit to pay the heat bill._

"_Jack!"_

_Jack shot up instantly at the sound of his mother's voice. He slowly crawled out of the closet, his legs and arms moving slowly from the cold. "Mommy?"_

_He made his way to the stairs, praying that maybe his mom would be in a good enough mood to feed him. He crawled down the stairs, and then walked into the kitchen. His mother was sitting at the table, eating a bowl of cereal._

"_Momma, I hungry," He said, approaching her cautiously._

"_What?!"_

_Jack pulled back instantly as his mother screamed, and threw her bowl at his head._

"_I sorry, I sorry!" He started repeating, scrambling backwards on his hands and knees. "I sorry!"_

"_You're hungry?! You're eatin' me outta my fucking house, you little shit!" Alicia screamed. "You're always hungry! When are you not fucking hungry?! All you fucking do is eat!"_

"_I sorry, mommy, I sorry! I not hungry! Please, momma, I not hungry!" Jack screamed. "I sorry, I not hungry!"_

_He screamed again as his mother dragged him up off the ground by his hair, and started dragging him towards the stairs. The four year old's body slammed roughly on the wooden steps as Alicia lost her grip on his hair._

_Jack took his chance, and started pulling himself towards the door on his hands and knees, but he wasn't fast enough._

_He wasn't ever fast enough._

Jack was seven when his life took a turn for the worse. No matter how hard he would try, no matter how many drugs he used, no what he did, nothing would ever erase the memory of what happened that night.

_Jack sighed to himself as he heard the bed banging on the wall. He turned over, and tried to drown the noise out by singing to himself, but it was simply too loud._

_He sat up, and sighed again. He was starving. Maybe he could sneak down to the kitchen while his mother was busy and steal some food._

_He quietly snuck out of the closet, and down stairs into the kitchen. His stomach was making loud growling noises as he stealthily opened the fridge, and surveyed the contents._

_Left over Chinese from two weeks ago, that had only a few spots of mold. Milk that was three weeks past it's expiration date. Gravy that had been in there only god knew how long._

_After careful consideration, Jack decided he was best off going with the Chinese. He grabbed it from the top shelf of the fridge, and started shoving it in as fast as he could, easily picking around the mold._

_He got so wrapped up in eating, he didn't even notice that the noises from upstairs had stopped._

_All he knew was that he was only halfway through with his long-denied meal, when out of nowhere, his mother ripped it from his hands, and smacked him across the face._

"_What the fuck do you think you're doing?!" She screamed, smacking him again. "I didn't say you could eat!"_

_For the first time, Jack noticed the man leaning against the door frame. He quickly tuned his mother and her slaps out, focusing only on the man, and his odd stare that made him uncomfortable._

"_Alicia."_

_Jack almost jumped at the man's voice. His mother stopped instantly, and looked over at the man, her face still red from her fury._

"_What?" She snapped._

"_How much for the night with him?"_

_Alicia stopped, stunned. Now there was something she hadn't thought of. People would be willing to pay good money for a cute boy. Especially a blond haired, blue eyed boy._

_Jack took a step back at the gleam in his mother's eye. "Mom? Mom, what's he mean?" He asked nervously, knowing he was speaking out of turn, but to afraid not too._

"_Shut up!" Alicia bellowed, smacking him again. "I'm trying to think!" She paused for a few seconds, before finally settling on a price. "Five hundred for the night. And that includes any of my toys that you want to use."_

"_Mom, what're you talking about? What's going on?" Jack stuttered as he watched the man give his mother some money, horror growing within him. "Mom!" This came out as a full fledged scream, as the man grabbed him by the wrist, and started yanking him up the stairs. "MOM!!"_

_Jack started crying as he struggled to free himself from the man's grasp, but it was pointless. The man dragged him into his mother's bedroom, and closed the door behind him._

_Jack cowered in the middle of the floor. "Please… what're you doing? What's going on?" He begged. "Where's my mom?"_

_The man quickly crossed the room and backhanded him. Jack's head bounced off a chair, and he felt blood dripping down his lip as he slowly righted himself back to a sitting position._

"_You will call me sir from now, understood?"_

"_Ye… ye-" Jack was cut off by another blow._

"_I didn't give you permission to speak! You will speak only when spoken too! Clear?"_

_Jack nodded, tears dripping down his face._

"_Answer me."_

"_Y-y-yes… sir."_

_The man nodded, pleased with himself. "Good. Now take off your clothes."_

_Jack's eyes grew wide. "What?"_

_The man kicked him in the ribs. "I said take off your clothes! I didn't say talk!"_

_Jack shook his head, silently refusing as he tried to maneuver his way to the door. But the man was to smart for that. He grabbed Jack, and threw him on the floor._

_Jack started screaming as he felt his pants being ripped open, and pulled off. His shirt and underwear weren't far behind._

_The man picked him up, and threw him on the bed. He struggled…_

_But there's not much a seven year old boy can do against a full grown man._

_The man finally got Jack to be quiet by sticking a ball gag in his mouth, and securely snapping it at the back of his head. Jack's hands flew up to try and pull it off, but the man punched him in the face, stunning him._

_As he lay helpless, the man used some of Alicia's 'toys', and bound him spread eagle to the bed._

_Jack continued to try and scream around the gag, but it was useless. Tears streamed down his face as the man fondled him roughly, squeezing a little bit before finally pulling his hand away. Jack felt a jolt of relief for half a second, before a large black object came into his line of sight. He felt himself being blindfolded, and struggled some more, but the man started beating him again…_

_And then he did worse things._

After that first night, Alicia started using Jack to make money almost every night. No matter how much the little boy struggled, it was always the same thing. The struggle to get away, the trip to the bedroom, the beating, and then the bed.

By the time he was ten, Jack had been with more men than he could or wanted to count. The men always used condoms, Alicia insisted on that, so at least he knew he wasn't getting any STD's.

By the time he was eleven, he started working the corners. After all… when you're told your only good for one thing... after a while, you begin to believe it.

The corner… the john's… Eventually Jack started doing twisted things. Nothing was to low for him. Seeing as how his self-esteem was about nil… Bondage, slave-and-master, dress up, fetishes, degradation… you name it, Jack would do it.

That is… until he met Evelyn.

* * *

Jack was freezing. It was starting to rain, and he'd had only two clients so far in the past five hours. That was barely nine hundred dollars, nowhere close to what he normally made.

He sighed impatiently. It was almost midnight; the customers should have started coming at least two hours ago.

Was that… could it be? Jack smiled to himself as a car pulled up to the curb. He walked towards it, his low-swinging jeans riding precariously on his hips as he swaggered up to the window.

"Can I help you?" He asked, looking inside. "Woah." He couldn't help himself. It was an elderly woman in the car, about fifty or so, with white hair. "You uh… need directions, ma'am?"

"How old are you, hun?" The woman asked gently.

"Thirteen. But uh… I um… I look young… you know… for my uh… for my age," He mumbled, embarrassed for the first time.

The woman looked at him with pity in her eyes. "Oh, honey. What's your name?"

"Jack."

"Jack, huh? Well, Jack, you're nothing but skin and bones. How about some food? Come on, I'll take you for pizza or something."

Jack took a step back from the car. "I… I can't. I don't uh… I have to keep workin'… I mean, I have to… I have to make some more… I mean… I have to try and get some uh… some more money."

"Oh. Well… I have…" The woman quickly flipped through her purse. "I have a hundred dollars… Is that enough?"

Jack grimaced. "I… I can't take your money. Besides…"

The woman gave him a stern look. "If you tell me how much you charge, I'll go to the bank and get it, Jack. I promise."

Jack almost cried. He actually felt tears in the corners of his eyes. "I… I can't. There's no way you could afford it… I mean, not that you'd pay me or anything… But I…"

"Please, Jack. I'll give you… two thousand dollars. And all you have to do is sit down and eat. Please. Two thousand dollars," The woman begged. "I swear."

Jack approached the car again. "And you'll… you'll bring me back here when we're done?"

The woman nodded. "If you want to come back here, that's what we'll do."

"How long will I be?"

"A few hours. That's all."

"Can we uh… can we make it an hour and a half? That's my… that's my usual uh… time limit," He stuttered as he got in the car.

The woman nodded. "Of course. However long you want. I'm Evelyn, by the way."

Jack nodded. "Ok."

"So what would you like to eat, Jack?"

Jack started thinking furiously. He hadn't eaten food out since… since… well, a long time. "Uh… um…"

"Well, I have to stop at the bank for the money anyways. So you have a few minutes to think about it."

"Arby's!" Jack blurted out. "Arby's."

Evelyn looked over at the boy huddled in her car with pity. He was so young. He glanced at her fearfully for a moment, before turning to look the window.

She didn't say anything as she went through the drive through and got his money. As they pulled out of the bank, and she headed towards the closet Arby's, she looked over, and noticed he was rocking back and forth slightly in his seat.

"Jack?" She said gently. "Are you alright?"

He snapped his head around. "Huh?"

"I asked if you were alright," She repeated.

"Oh. Yeah, I uh… I'm fine," He muttered as they pulled into Arby's.

Once she got him in the light, Evelyn had to physically stop herself from crying out at Jack's thin body. Bruises and cuts littered his bare arms, and his wife beater hung off his emaciated ribs. But she managed to keep quiet long enough for them to order their food. Jack looked more than a little hesitant as he ordered a beef and cheddar sandwich, but when Evelyn ordered two more, and gave them to him as they sat down, he eagerly snatched them from her. Almost before she could lift a French fry to her mouth, he was shoving in his sandwich, glancing at her nervously out of the corner of his eye.

When he was done, he sat back against the booth, and looked over at her.

"So uh… what now?"

"Now I get to ask you some questions," Evelyn said confidently.

Jack looked startled. "What?"

"Well, I'm not giving you two thousand dollars to sit in the booth and look pretty, Jack," She said with a smile. "It's ok. I just want to ask you a few questions; you don't have to answer them if you don't want too. Ok?" When he nodded, she continued. "Ok. Let's start with the basics. Where do you live?"

He stared down at the floor. "With uh… with my um… mom."

Evelyn drew back in shock. "With your mother? Does she know about this?"

"You mean about me… workin'?" He gave a small nod. "Yeah… she knows."

From the tone in his voice, Evelyn would guess that she more than knew about Jack's 'job', but she didn't push the issue. "How long have you been doing this?"

He shrugged. "Workin' the corner? Two years. Or somethin' like that."

"You've been doing this since you were eleven?!"

Jack cringed at the anger in her words. "I'm sorry," He said automatically. "I didn't mean it."

Evelyn slowly reigned in her temper. "No, Jack… it's not you. I just… doesn't your mom worry about you?"

Jack shook his head, his eyes still locked on the floor.

"Jack… look at me. Does your mother make you do this?"

"Can you take me back now? Please?" He asked, tears in the corners of his eyes.

Evelyn nodded, although it went against her every instinct. "Sure, Jack," She said quietly. "I'll take you back."

As Jack scrambled out of the car, Evelyn handed him the money, and a card. Jack looked at her quizzically.

"It's my business card," She explained. "If you ever need help, or someone to talk to, you just call that number, ok?"

Jack nodded, a lump in his throat. "Yeah. Sure." _Not really_.

* * *

Sore and tired, Jack walked into his house. He didn't have the energy to go upstairs to his 'room', so he went into the kitchen, and laid his head down on the table, letting his eyes slowly close. He was almost asleep, when a solid smack on the back of his head pulled him painfully back to reality.

"How much did you get?" Alicia demanded, standing over him with her hands on her hip.

Jack shrugged, and lay his head back down on the table.

"Hey! I asked how much you got!" Alicia yelled, smacking him again. "Don't fucking ignore me!"

Jack painfully lifted his head again. "I'm not sure… like… I don't know… a lot…" He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket, and half-heartedly threw it at his mom. "There's a bunch in there… Can I please just sleep for a little while?" He begged, laying his head down again.

Alicia quickly flipped the wallet open, then gaped at him open-mouthed. "What the hell is all this? There's four thousand dollars here. Where the fuck did you get all this?" Then she grinned. "You been doin' some weird shit again? You're makin' me proud, Jack."

Jack scowled into the table, feeling something close to tears in his eyes. "Fuckin' wonderful," He mumbled, just quiet enough so she couldn't hear him.

"But I got someone here who's willing to pay a thousand dollars for two hours for you. He's waitin' upstairs. He's payin' good money, don't fuck this up."

Jack fought the urge to cry, as he buried his head in his arms. "Do I have to?" He asked, already knowing the question was useless, and as pointless as asking if the sun would rise.

"No shit, you have to. Now get your fucking ass upstairs!"

* * *

Jack screamed in pain as the man slammed into him again. He struggled to break free of his bonds, but the man just wouldn't stop.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the man pulled out of him. Jack wasn't even sure if he'd orgasmed or not. Not that he cared. All he cared was that it was done.

He tried to sit up, but found he was still tied. He lifted his head, and looked at the man quizzically. He attempted to speak through the ball gag, but nothing came out.

"Oh, I'm not done yet, Jack. I still have half an hour before my times up. And I plan to get every bit of my money's worth."

And he did…

* * *

When Evelyn drove by Jack's corner again two nights later, he looked horrible. At first, he looked like he might have been sleeping on his feet, but Evelyn couldn't be sure.

He walked up to her car slowly. "What?" He slurred. It took Evelyn a moment to realize that something was wrong with his mouth.

"I came to see if you wanted dinner. You look like you're starving."

"I can't. I got… I got customers waiting… yeah… they're waiting…" He trailed off, closing his eyes.

"Jack? Jack, are you alright? Jack!" Evelyn said loudly. When he didn't answer, she got out of her car, and went over to him.

"No… get away," He muttered, backing up. "Don't…"

"Jack, you're… you're sick. Please. If you get in the car, I'll take you to a doctor."

"No!" Jack yelled. "No doctor!"

"Ok. No doctor. I'll take you back to my house. I'll make you some food, and you can sleep on the couch. Please?"

Jack swayed a little. "Can you… can you make eggs?" He asked seriously, still wobbling.

"Yes. I can make eggs, and toast, or pancakes, or whatever you want."

Jack started towards the car, before stopping. "Can't."

"Yes you can, Jack. All you have to do is get in the car," Evelyn said softly.

"Can't. Mom will be mad. Haven't made enough. Gotta make more…" He mumbled.

"Jack, please. Just get in the car. I'll… I'll give you enough money in the morning to make up for it. Your mother won't know a thing. Please."

Jack looked at her suspiciously. "She won't know? You won't tell her?"

"No, Jack. I won't tell her. Just… get in the car and I'll take you to my house."

As soon as Evelyn got Jack in the car, she got out her cell phone and called her house.

"Hello?" Came a groggy voice.

"Bobby?"

"Ma? What're you… what's goin' on?" Her oldest son asked.

"I was working late, and I picked up a boy. I'm bringing him back to the house, alright?"

"Aw, hell ma, I don't care. You wake me up just for that?"

"No… I woke you up because I think you'll have to carry him inside."

Instantly, Bobby sounded more awake. "What's wrong?"

"Well… I picked him up at the corner, and he looks… well, I think he's really sick."

"Wait a minute… The corner? As in 'workin' the corner' corner? Damn ma, how old is he?"

"Thirteen."

"Aw shit. Yeah, I'll be waitin' outside."


End file.
